You Can't Take the T Out

I have always had a complicated relationship with gender. I’m AFAB, but even when I was a baby, people said what a cute little boy I was. My mom would dress me in pink dresses and they would say how cute her baby boy was. I didn’t have hair until I was two years old, so I’m sure that didn’t help. As a child, I grew up with the dreaded question, “Are you a boy or a girl?” Mostly from kids being little shits on the playground. I heard it in their tone. When I would answer, they didn’t believe me, or they would say something rude. So, I started responding with, “Why?” They would counter with, “Because I want to know,” I would say “Why?” again, over and over until they gave up, exasperated. I was exasperated, by fourth grade. I was a girl, wasn’t I? That’s what my mom said I was. Sometimes I felt like I was a girl. But I wanted to dress in boy clothes. I didn’t like pink or dresses or sparkles or any of the girl stuff. I wanted short hair. I was labeled a tomboy. Tomboy. TomBOY. Yes. I liked this term.

I was lucky enough to grow up with an elder lesbian as a friend of the family, part of the family, really. I have a very distinct memory from when I was maybe 5 or 6. She was babysitting us, me and my older sister. We were driving somewhere. On the way, we stopped to see her friend, or at least she went in to see her friend. It was a girl. I saw her use breath spray before going to the door. I knew in that moment I was going to be like her. I was going to go see girls who were special friends. For whom I needed fresh breath. To impress. To be with. I didn’t have the word lesbian yet. But I knew that’s what I was. I have another memory of being maybe 9 or so. My family, parents, grandparents, my aunt, the family friend mentioned previously, were all at dinner at the Corvette Diner. Someone had gotten a drink that came with a cherry. I didn’t even know how I knew I could do it, but I announced that I could tie a cherry stem into a knot in my mouth. Then I proceeded to do so. My family laughed, somewhat uncomfortably. Someone asked if I liked eating Rice Krispies. I did. I didn’t quite understand though. I still don’t understand the correlation. But I do love me some Rice Krispies.

I thought my gender issues were explained by the fact I’m a lesbian. That’s why I feel boyish, right? Because I like girls. It wasn’t until being with my wife that I realized I even had a girl side. Then I was more confused. She makes me feel feminine. Sometimes. Then sometimes I feel my most masculine. We balance each other. I’m growing my hair out for her. For me, too. But for her. Being with her made me realize I hold both masculine and feminine genders within. I realized I’m nonbinary. It varies which gender shows itself day to day, or even during the day. Does this make me trans? At first I didn’t think it did. But the more I sit with my gender(s), the more I realize I DO fall under the trans umbrella. There’s definitely a boy inside here. But sometimes a girl. Sometimes both.

I read a section in a Gay History book. It was about the history of Two-Spirit acceptance in many Native American communities, pre-colonization. I forget the Native word for it listed in the book, and I don’t know which tribe it was talking about specifically at that point. They were revered, though. Seen as connected to the divine. There was a story about a Two-Spirit woman. I don’t remember her name, nor her tribe, and I don’t have the book right now (it’s being sent to me from Utah as I write this). It was the time during manifest destiny, I believe. When the government was making contact with tribes, just to give them the boot and take over their land. Somehow the president became aware of this particular Two-Spirit woman. And he became so intrigued by her, she was invited to the White House and had tea with the First Lady. I don’t remember which president it was. The history book is Gay and Lesbian History, 1869-Present (It’s called Out of the Past, if you’re interested). Reading about the Two-Spirit people. Reading her story. That was when I had the first inkling that I was nonbinary. Again, I didn’t have the word for it yet. Just Two-Spirit. Which is what I feel in my soul I am. But I read somewhere that it’s cultural appropriation to use that term if you’re not Native. So, nonbinary, I am. Trans, in a way.

Now, there’s a lot of trans hate. They’re trying to take the T out LGBT. WTF?! Marsha P. Johnson is the reason we have the gay rights movement. Well, Stonewall. But Marsha. You can’t just remove the existence of people that have always been around, throughout ALL of history. And the hate. The vitriol. It hurts. It makes me sad, but angry, too. And a little scared. How do you erase a whole population of people? That’s what the president is trying to do. But where does he think we’re going to go? And the courage it’s giving to despicable people to do despicable things. It’s fucking scary. Because, I am trans. People see me and think “boy”. And, for the most part, I feel like a boy. I’m still trying to find the balance between the two. That’s always made me a target for bullies. But the bullies are in the White House, now. And they’re emboldening the rest of the bullies to be louder. I guess that means I need to be even louder than them?

I’ve never really been loud. I’m quiet. I keep to myself. I try not to make any trouble. But I used to be a rebel. I used to be, not loud, but intentional. I lost that, through the trauma over the years, from my mom. But I feel like now, especially, I really need to get that back. I need to be loudly angry. I need to be unapologetically, authentically myself. I thank my wife and am so incredibly grateful to/for her for showing me everyday how to do that. That I CAN be that. To anyone reading this, be YOU. We’re not going anywhere. We will get through this. We will fight this bullshit. And we will prevail.

-A. K.